Улисс

           CashelBoyleO’ConnorFitzmauriceTisdallFarrell,murmuring,glassyeyed,strodepasttheKildarestreetclub.

           BenDollardfrownedand,makingsuddenlyachanter’smouth,gaveforthadeepnote.

           —Aw!hesaid.

           —That’sthestyle,MrDedalussaid,noddingtoitsdrone.

           —Whataboutthat?BenDollardsaid.Nottoodusty?What?

           Heturnedtoboth.

           —That’lldo,FatherCowleysaid,noddingalso.

           ThereverendHughC.LovewalkedfromtheoldchapterhouseofsaintMary’sabbeypastJamesandCharlesKennedy’s,rectifiers,attendedbyGeraldinestallandpersonable,towardstheTholselbeyondthefordofhurdles.

           BenDollardwithaheavylisttowardstheshopfrontsledthemforward,hisjoyfulfingersintheair.

           —Comealongwithmetothesubsheriff’soffice,hesaid.IwanttoshowyouthenewbeautyRockhasforabailiff.He’sacrossbetweenLobengulaandLynchehaun.He’swellworthseeing,mindyou.Comealong.IsawJohnHenryMentoncasuallyintheBodegajustnowanditwillcostmeafallifIdon’t...Waitawhile...We’reontherightlay,Bob,believeyoume.

           —Forafewdaystellhim,FatherCowleysaidanxiously.

           BenDollardhaltedandstared,hisloudorificeopen,adanglingbuttonofhiscoatwaggingbrightbackedfromitsthreadashewipedawaytheheavyshraumsthatcloggedhiseyestoheararight.

           —Whatfewdays?heboomed.Hasn’tyourlandlorddistrainedforrent?

           —Hehas,FatherCowleysaid.

           —Thenourfriend’swritisnotworththepaperit’sprintedon,BenDollardsaid.Thelandlordhasthepriorclaim.Igavehimalltheparticulars.29Windsoravenue.